


Summer Daze

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2007-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While visiting family in Dol Amroth, Faramir's encounter with a prostitute leads him to question some of the values he grew up with.<br/><br/>(Warning, this story contains explicit erotic content and deals with themes of prostitution and masturbation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fore-Note

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

****** This story is in some sense a sequel, or perhaps a gapfiller, to "[Summer Nights](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/stories/chapter.cfm?stid=2943)", a story I first published in January 2004. Necessarily "Summer Daze" refers to events of that story. I have tried to make "Summer Daze" a self-sufficient tale and explain enough of the context of prior events for the reader to understand "Summer Daze" without having read "Summer Nights". If you are familiar with this story, it fits between part two and the epilogue, when Faramir is trying to decide whether to return to Isilwen. I have not tried to address larger plausibility concerns of how Faramir encountered a prostitute to begin with; I have my answer, but that's a tale for another day and when I tried to work my explanation in it weighed down this story. **

****

** A brief synopsis may help those who haven't read "Summer Nights". That story is based on the premise that Dol Amroth is smaller and less anonymous than Minas Tirith, so if prostitution occurred in Gondor it would have to take a different form here. I suggest that there are respectable inns, but that if you requested it directly, a prostitute could be provided. This has the advantage of covering the men seen entering and leaving the inns/whorehouses, but the disadvantage of allowing people unfamiliar with the custom to ask for a prostitute without meaning to. In "Summer Nights", a young Faramir tries to escape the heat and accidentally requests a prostitute. Faramir then has to come to terms with whether he would ever lay with a prostitute and why it is wrong (or not) to do so. **

****

** I would like to make one fairly minor change to the scenario I described in "Summer Nights". When I wrote that story I did not realize that Dol Amroth was built on cliffs, and at the beginning of my story I wrote Faramir lazing around on dunes. Faramir still lazes about down by the ocean, but since there are cliffs, he's probably laying against a rock or tree trunk rather than a dune. **

****

** "Summer Daze" is inspired by Faramir's line in "Summer Nights", "I would sooner find release in my hand than in another man's toy", and by Juno Magic's challenge to write stories about auto-eroticism. I hope you enjoy it. **


	2. Summer Daze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While visiting family in Dol Amroth, Faramir's encounter with a prostitute leads him to question some of the values he grew up with.

** Faramir rolled his head back into the pillow, baring the skin under his chin to the breeze wafting through the open window. The pillow's silken case caressed the back of his neck, and he let out a satisfied sigh. **

****

** He smelled a new scent, that strong but not wholly unpleasant perfume of rose-water some of the merchants' daughters wore, and he propped himself up on his elbows to look around. And then he saw her standing in the open doorway, tantalizing in her thin, low-necked gown. He could slip the gown off her shoulders without her so much as loosening a lace or a button, if she would let him. If he dared. **

****

** "The matron said you would desire company." **

****

** Faramir felt his blood pulse behind his ear, once, twice, three times, and he still could not find the words to answer her. He swallowed to clear his throat, and he opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. The faintest of smiles crossed her lips, and Faramir was struck by how gloriously red they were, as bright as the ripest of strawberries. He would gladly feed her fruit to see their colors against her lips. **

****

** "Would you like the company?" she repeated. The thought occurred to Faramir that one such as she might have better uses for those lips, and he found himself nodding mutely. Isilwen--for surely he had never met this girl before, but the name came to him with a certainty, and he knew it must belong to her--Isilwen crossed the room and sat down on the bed beside him. She leaned toward him and kissed him. At first he thought to stop her, but the satiny bed sheet under him felt so smooth, so cool, so _good_ , and she was there and felt so good too, and he found he could not catch his breath. He parted his lips below hers and reveled in her taste. Was it honey and... never mind, whatever it was, it was intoxicating. **

****

** Isilwen drew back--only a little, for they both desperately needed to breathe--and he inched a hand up the bodice of her gown until he reached the neckline. There he hesitated. She took his hand in hers and placed it inside her gown, and he felt the smooth skin and the solid weight of her breast against his palm, the nipple already hardening. He rolled the stiffening flesh between his thumb and forefinger, and he felt her breast pushing against his palm as her breath grew more hurried. **

****

** He braced his other hand against the headboard and leaned forward. This time he did not hesitate; he kissed her hard, even daring to run his tongue along her open lips. They stayed like that, locked together, until his wrist gave out under him, and he let himself fall back against the pillows, gasping for breath... **

****

** Faramir coughed, three shallow barks, and suddenly recognized the almost inky taste that pervaded the air. He saw a dust mote hovering in front of his mouth. Even in the faint light from the low flame of his oil lamp, Faramir knew this could not be the room in the _Silver Fox_. But where? He looked around again. The walls lined with scrolls and codices, the scrivener's apprentice napping in the corner--it could only be the archives in the crypts of his grandfather's castle. **

****

** He glanced down at his lap and realized he had been running his thumb along his hardening length without even realizing he had been doing it. He lifted his hand and grasped the side of the desk, cursing himself under his breath for his lack of restraint. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but the only person in sight was the scrivener's apprentice, still dozing. **

****

** Three days. Faramir sighed heavily. Three days had passed since he had found himself in that upper room at the _Silver Fox_ , being propositioned by a woman more exotic than any he had ever seen in the White City. In Minas Tirith, houses where fine women sold such pleasure were only allowed in the leeward side of the Fourth Circle, and any man who saw you coming out of such a house could not extort you with what he had seen; he would only be in the neighborhood to buy such forbidden delights himself. **

****

** Yet Dol Amroth was too small for such an arrangement, and when he had ordered a meal in an inn and accepted a private room on the upper floor in which to dine, he did not truly know what he had been offered. He had left the inn as soon as he realized just what services the girl proffered, but he could not flee his thoughts so easily. Try as he might, Quenyan declensions and ancient battles just would not hold his focus, and every time he let his imagination wander, there _she_ was. **

****

** He looked down again. He was hard enough that, if he stood, his arousal would be obvious to anyone. Yet Faramir was not completely unlearned in how to master his body; he had learned a lesson or two growing up under Boromir's wing, and their father had demanded control even in those most awkward moments between childhood and maturity. Faramir knew how to soften himself: he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, and soon he saw that his trousers did not bunch noticeably. **

****

** But being alone in this nearly-deserted archive was clearly not the place for him either. Even as he willed his pounding heart to slow, his seditious thoughts turned to the silky feel of Isilwen's hair as he loosened her hair-clasp and ran his fingers from scalp to tip. He felt himself begin to harden again. **

****

** He needed the company of others to divert him--or, better yet, he needed to be truly alone where he could be sure none would interrupt him. Faramir had a sudden image of himself, trousers around his ankles, stroking himself in front of the chamberpot behind the screen in the back corner of the archives, and he laughed. But perhaps... perhaps if he truly let those thoughts run their course, if he took himself in hand as he had in years past, his restless mind might give him rest. Could he at least make it through evening meal? It had worked in past years, and Faramir thought it worth a try. **

****

** He blew out the lamp, screwed the stopper into his inkpot, and made for the stairs at the back of the archives. When he reached the castle's main floor he was almost surprised to find the entryway as silent as the crypts. Usually the main corridor was bustling with sound, but this afternoon it was strangely quiet. Calandil, the errand boy, sat on his stool in the antechamber near the foot of the grand stairs, but aside from him Faramir could not see or hear a living soul. Which was all for the good, for Faramir did not desire any awkward questions. **

****

** He crossed the hall to Calandil and asked where the prince's family was. Lothíriel played in the gardens, Calandil informed him, and his uncle and grandfather heard petitioners in the great hall. Boromir, for his part, had taken Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos to the practice grounds for a quick bout before dinner. That last piece of news seemed particularly good to Faramir: as soon as he reached the suite of rooms he shared with Boromir he could attend to himself without fear of interruption. He nodded his farewell to Calandil and headed down the hall toward the stairs at the back of the castle that led to the apartments reserved for guests of the prince. **

****

** Why did he need to be so sure Boromir was away? That need puzzled Faramir. The brothers had shared rooms for years, and Faramir had woken Boromir more than once before he had learned not to moan to himself. And was it really something to be ashamed of, anyway? True, Denethor had never breached the subject with him, but both boys had heard the standard fatherly advice from their uncle Húrin. Pleasuring yourself was undeniably a private act, but it was better to let those impulses run their course than to think of nothing else all day long. And even a father as demanding as Denethor would not condemn his sons for doing what was beyond their control if it did not interfere with duty or harm others. **

****

** Still, Faramir had always assumed that boys only stroked themselves until they could subdue their bodies to their mind's control. He would soon be a journeyman soldier, ready to pledge his sword to Gondor. If he could not control his other blade, well, he certainly didn't want to share that fact with the world! **

****

** Faramir reached the end of the corridor and started climbing the stairs. He remembered another set of stairs he had followed the matron of the _Silver Fox_ up three afternoons before, and a shiver traveled down his spine. He had not known then what awaited him on that upper corridor, but now he could guess well enough just what Isilwen would have done with him if he hadn't run away. He saw a quilt thrown back over the foot of the bed, a man's arse rising and falling, Isilwen's midnight-black hair splayed under them, her hips rising to meet the man's, and Faramir felt himself harden immediately. He shook his head to clear his mind of that image and, when his breathing slowed a little, he bounded up the remaining steps and latched the door behind him. **

****

** He undid his belt as quickly as he could and slid his trousers lower on his hips. He started to undo his boot-laces but then thought better of the delay. Sliding his trousers and braies down to his knees, he lay back on the bed and spat on his palms. **

****

** The man in his dream tilted his head back, and Faramir recognized his brother's profile. And why not? Faramir rarely saw himself in such fantasies, and Boromir cared little for what others thought of him, scoffing at what he called "elvish morals." He would not take another's honor, but as Isilwen offered herself so willingly... yes, Boromir would take her, easily and often, and he was as good a model as any. **

****

** Faramir closed his eyes and imagined the scene again. The man had the same face, the same grey eyes half-closed from the pleasure. But his hair was no longer the dark brown of Boromir's locks; it was raven. Of a sudden Faramir could literally _feel_ Isilwen's hair caress his neck, the smooth skin of her legs against his own, her stiff nipples brushing against his bare chest. Faramir curled his fingers around his now-hard length, but it was not his hand that thrilled him. Isilwen was so warm around him, and as he jerked his hand up and down, it was as if he slid in and out of her. **

****

** Five strokes and he felt the muscles in his legs and his back seize up. Once more, two jerks at the most, and he would be undone. In his dream Faramir locked his elbows and pulled his hips back, then pierced her as deep and as fast as he could. He felt his seed spill into her, and she cried his name into his neck as she trembled under him. **

****

** For a long moment Faramir lay there, too exhausted to move. At last he opened his eyelids and looked down at himself, and saw the sticky liquid on the tunic he had not bothered to remove earlier. Yet somehow that did not bother him overmuch. The laundress would ask no questions, but it was more than that. Faramir had seen himself lying with a woman, a woman who sold such moments to merchants, knights, and lords, and the thought had made him so hard that he ached at the memory. Always before when he thought of himself sheathed between a woman's thighs the shame had turned him soft, and so he had imagined other faces and bodies sinking into the women he desired. But this time, it had been him, and he had enjoyed it all the more. **

****

** Faramir stood up and removed his boots, trousers, braies, and tunic. He walked over to the clothes-bureau beside the balcony, deposited his soiled clothes in the hamper, and gathered clean ones. When he had finished dressing he looked out the glass panes in the balcony doors and saw Lothíriel and her nursemaid playing in the gardens below. **

****

** The sight of her reaching up to pull a flower off a bush reminded him of something else Boromir had said in that conversation three days ago. Boromir had seduced and bedded a chambermaid, Eseleth, when he was not much younger than Faramir was now, and his brother's seed had taken root. Somewhere in Anórien Faramir had a young nephew. How old was that child now, Faramir wondered? **

****

** And more to the point, was he willing to burden another woman with another unexpected child to raise without a father? But maybe it needn't be like that with him. Isilwen had seemed expert enough in her trade, and her breasts did not sag like Faramir expected they would if a child had suckled at them. Did she know of the herbs Faramir had read of that would cast a child from the mother's belly if taken early enough? Or did they have arrangements in Dol Amroth to care for such offspring? Perhaps he could ask her. **

****

** Or perhaps... well, Boromir _had_ said that women like Isilwen had chosen to earn their bread on their backs. Surely the matron could have found her work as a maid or seamstress. If she had not conceived a child yet, she must be remarkably barren or had other ways to deal with a pregnancy. That was a risk of her profession, and in the end was her affair, not his. **

****

** With that thought Faramir made up his mind. He may no longer need her, but he still _wanted_ her. Faramir put on his shoes, ran a comb through his hair, and walked back down the stairs. When he reached the entrance hall he told Calandil to tell his grandfather not to expect him at evening meal, and he left the castle. **

****

** Before, when he had first found the _Silver Fox_ , it was quite by accident. He had been walking back from the cliffs and had gotten lost in his thoughts, and he stumbled on the inn when he did not know where he was. The buildings there were too close and tall for him to see the sea, but when the matron showed him to a suite on the second floor, Faramir had seen the blue standard of Dol Amroth above his grandfather's castle. The inn was rather close to the castle, perhaps a quarter-mile south, and Faramir made quick journey of the walk there. **

****

** When he opened the inn's door the bell overhead jangled, and a woman hurried in from the kitchen. Faramir recognized her as the woman who had greeted him the last time he had visited, and had arranged for Isilwen to approach him. "Good even, s--" she began but stopped short, apparently recognizing her customer. "My Lord, I did not expect you to return." She looked at his face as if to judge his humor before she continued, "Is there aught I can do for you?" **

****

** Faramir found her nervousness amusing, but he was in no hurry to put her at ease. After a moment she nodded to herself. "I think I know why you are here," she said, now more confidently, and she walked over to the podium where she welcomed guests. She opened a drawer and produced the book Faramir had left in the room the last time he had visited here. **

****

** A man came down the stairs, still adjusting his cloak so it hung straight, and Faramir thought the matron blushed slightly. For his part, he would gladly torment her for the disservice she had done him in sending him to the second floor unprepared, but the thoughts brought to mind by the man's gait excited him. He wanted to see Isilwen again. **

****

** Faramir took the book. "Thank you, good matron, but I did not come to retrieve forgotten property. I would have a meal, and a private room to enjoy it in." He looked her in the eye so there could be no mistaking his intent. "A second-floor room, with a view of the sea." **

****

** The matron glanced over toward the man, now waiting by the podium. "Lord, you do realize..." **

****

** Faramir held up his hand to forestall her. "I am perfectly aware what I am asking of you," he said. "Do not think me so slow I need to learn that lesson twice. And I would have the company you offered last time. Will she... 'dine' with me now, or shall I return later?" **

****

** The matron stepped back to her podium and examined the register book open on top of it. "She is not yet engaged. Are you sure..." She looked at Faramir, and apparently the stern look in his eyes convinced her of his earnestness. She turned to the other man and said, "One moment, sir...." She opened a drawer in the podium, pulled out a ring of keys, and led Faramir up the stairs. **

****

** The room she led him to was different than the one where he had first met Isilwen three days ago. A couch not quite long enough for two sat against the far wall, and by it stood a wine-rack and ice-bucket. Beside the door he had just entered there was another door, left open enough that Faramir saw a bed through it. He breathed deep to slow his heart, already beating faster at what that chamber promised. A balcony looked out on the garden behind the inn, and on it Faramir saw a table set for two. He walked out to the balcony and sat at the table. **

****

** The matron took a bottle of wine from the rack and followed Faramir onto the balcony. She uncorked the bottle and poured some into Faramir's glass. "Did you truly want a meal?" **

****

** Faramir considered. Truthfully, food was the last thing on his mind, but he remembered his earlier thought to place ripe strawberries on Isilwen's lips. "Not a full meal, perhaps," he told the matron, "but refreshment would not go amiss. Something light and sweet. Fruit and cheeses, and carob?" **

****

** "Of course," the matron said. "Is there aught else?" Faramir shook his head, and the matron turned to leave. When she reached the door leading to the hall she turned back to face Faramir. "I shall send in Isilwen, then?" Faramir did not even try to hide the hungry look in his eyes. "As soon as may be," he said. With that the matron left. **

****

** Faramir swirled the wine in his glass and took a small sip. It was sweet, but the sugar did not completely mask its potency. He sat the glass down; he wanted to enjoy this thoroughly, and he knew he would not do that if his head was dulled by wine. Instead, Faramir walked over to the railing of the balcony and looked past the garden to the distant horizon of the sea. A gull circled over the cliffs, and for a while Faramir traced its flight with his eyes. **

****

** There was a gentle knock, and Faramir turned around so he leaned against the rail, facing the open door. There stood Isilwen. Her gown was a little more substantial than he remembered and a veil around her head covered much of her hair, but her olive skin and dark eyes were just as exotic as they had been the last time he saw her. **

****

** "My lord?" Isilwen was carrying a small tray in her hand, and she placed it on the table before joining him by the balcony rail. Tentatively, she laid her hand on top of his. "My lord, I truly apologize for the... confusion... the other day." **

****

** Faramir lifted his hand and traced his forefinger along Isilwen's cheekbone before letting it rest again on the rail. "You should not beg pardon for what was not your fault," he said. He started to take a step forward, so he could stand closer to her, but then he remembered the tray she had brought. "Now that you are here, I find I am less hungry than I thought. But I wonder, perhaps you would like..." **

****

** He moved to the table and took a strawberry slice, then walked back toward Isilwen. Faramir lifted his hand to her lips, and Isilwen opened her mouth willingly. Faramir placed the fruit on her tongue, and Isilwen closed her lips around it. She sucked it into the back of her throat and swallowed it without chewing. **

****

** Faramir licked his lips, and he felt a twitch between his legs. He had heard of alleys in the lower circles of Minas Tirith where whores would take soldiers in their mouth for a few coins, and he wondered if Isilwen would do that for him. **

****

** She placed a hand behind his back and drew him toward her, placing her leg between his thighs. She leaned in, and the way she rubbed against him made his heart pound. Surely Isilwen felt his hardening length pressing into her leg; she could not be ignorant of his growing passion. She smiled and ran the thumb of her free hand inside the waist of his trousers. Faramir had to swallow hard to keep from whimpering. **

****

** "You truly are not hungry?" she teased. Faramir shook his head, and Isilwen took his hand, leading him back into the parlor. She sat on the couch and put her hands around Faramir's thighs, positioning him in front of her. She made short work of his buckle and loosened the laces on his trousers; soon Faramir's hardened length protruded through the opening she had made, the braies still pulled tight over it. **

****

** Faramir felt himself blush, and his head began to spin a little at the way she looked at him, so exposed. He laid one hand on her shoulder to steady himself and rested his shins against the couch. Isilwen pulled his trousers down to his calves and pulled at the laces fastening his braies. At last Faramir was free, the air cool against his warm skin; he felt himself trembling in anticipation. **

****

** She placed her lips around him, tracing a circle with her tongue around his tip. Faramir's knees trembled; he reached out his free arm and braced himself against the back of the couch. Isilwen reached up and caught him under his arms, easing him onto the couch beside her. She looked over at him apologetically. "I am sorry, Lord. I should have had you sit. Shall I kneel?" **

****

** Faramir wanted to cry _Yes, yes!_ \--he knew how good what she had done had felt and guessed what she planned to do would only feel better--but he did not think he could control himself if she went much further, and that was not the release he most sought. He shook his head. **

****

** Isilwen turned to face him fully, her eyes now serious. "Are you certain, Lord?" Faramir placed a finger to her lips and said in a raspy voice, "Please, call me Faramir." He let the hand fall to her breast and ran his thumb over where he thought the nipple might lie under the cloth. She continued, "Are you certain, Faramir? I know your Númenórean customs demand chastity, but most unmarried Gondorians have few qualms with this sort of closeness...." **

****

** Faramir shook his head again, but this time he smiled at her. "Nay, Isilwen, you misunderstand me. I would have you that way, and hope to before I leave, but if you took me now I would spend myself in your mouth. And I desire more." **

****

** Isilwen returned his smile and nodded in agreement. "I think I understand." She stood up and placed a supporting hand under Faramir's elbow, helping him find his feet. She led him toward the door leading to the bed chamber. **

****

** When they reached the doorway Faramir grabbed her wrist and pulled her back towards him, kissing her harshly. She parted her lips and Faramir tasted the salty tang he guessed was himself. **

****

** It was Faramir who pulled back at last. He kicked at his boots impatiently, and when they would not come off, Isilwen sat him down on the bed. "Allow me." Bending his leg so the shoe rested against the bed, she quickly removed first the shoes, then the trousers and braies. Then she turned her attention to the lacings tying his tunic closed at his neck. She pulled the string free with her teeth. **

****

** Faramir fumbled with the buttons at his wrists, at last freeing his hands. He slipped his arms out of his sleeves and reached under his tunic to Isilwen's gown. He found the sash at her ribs and untied it. Isilwen pushed the cloth aside and slid it off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. Faramir saw they were taut, and he tentatively reached up to feel one. **

****

** Isilwen placed her hand around his wrist and encouraged him to knead her. Her breathing was less haggard than in his dream, but enough so that he guessed he was doing something right. On a whim he kissed a nipple, and Isilwen sucked in her breath. Faramir eased her onto her back and kissed the other breast. After a moment she placed her hands on Faramir's shoulders and pushed him back. **

****

** "Is this your first time lying with a woman?" she asked. Faramir nodded. "I think," Isilwen said softly, "that I must take the lead." Again Faramir nodded, and she gently rolled him over onto his back. Then she paused and lifted her skirt over her head, throwing it to the floor beside Faramir's clothes. She pulled herself to her knees and crawled over until she straddled him. **

****

** "Trust me, Faramir," she said. She took him in her hands, and he gasped. Slowly she lowered herself onto him. Faramir felt his blood pulsing through his whole body. He bucked toward her, and Isilwen took him in until their hips met and she rested against his chest. She pushed herself up, then sank down more quickly. Occasionally Faramir held her against him for a moment or thrust upward to meet her. Finally, sensing that he was ready to rule their joining, Isilwen placed her hands on his hips and held him tight to her as she rolled over again so he now lay on top of her. **

****

** He pierced her deeply and his heart nearly skipped a beat when she pulled him deeper still. He delighted at the sounds his movements drew from her; no mere boy could please her so. Out and in, and again, and he knew he could not contain himself much longer. Faramir followed the rhythm she set, he knew not for how long, until a wave coursed through him and he spent himself within her. **

****

** For a long time they lay joined like that. Faramir felt her heart beating in time with his own, and he breathed in deeply, savoring the sweet smell of her hair. At last he eased himself out of her and fell deep into the pillows beside her, draping his arm across her waist. There were no worries of yesterday or tomorrow in these chambers; Faramir thought only of the now and, for the first time in a long while, he felt truly at peace. He knew he should say something to her, tell her how he had dreamt of her and asked for her, but before he could find the words his eyes drifted shut. **

****

** ******* **

****

** It was well into the third hour of the night before Faramir left that second-floor room. They had put Isilwen's veil to good use; she had blinded Faramir with it and fed him the food from earlier, mixing rich tastes and smells with kisses and caresses until Faramir moaned at the mere warmth of her breath against his ear. And she had taken him in her mouth when he had recovered from that first bout of love-making, though this time she kneeled before him while he sat on the edge of the bed and held on to the footboard. **

****

** At last Faramir guessed that he should go. He rather looked forward to telling Boromir what had transpired (though the thought of informing Adrahil sent shivers down his spine that were quite different from those Isilwen inspired), and he did not wish to worry his family unnecessarily. **

****

** He redressed himself and checked his appearance twice in the mirror to make sure everything was as it should be. Walking back to the nightstand, he noticed he had to be careful to keep his legs wider apart; their exertions had left him surprisingly sore. Not that Faramir regretted them! **

****

** He dug into his pocket and found the mother-of-pearl hair ornament he always kept there. Boromir had given it to him on his seventh birthday, an heirloom from Finduilas's jewel-box. For the last ten years he had carried it almost as a talisman, but he no longer felt the need of it. He had other keepsakes to remind him of his mother, and he hoped he would soon use his pockets for other ladies' keepsakes. Would this do in place of words to show Isilwen she was more than a common whore to him? At the least a jewel like that should be worn, not hidden. He laid it on the bedside table and quietly left the room. **

****

** Downstairs, he approached the podium to pay the matron. Faramir noticed that her face went a little white when she saw him coming, and he smiled to himself. "Isilwen suited you?" she asked. **

****

** He had little pity for her, exposing boys on the cusp of manhood to services like what she peddled without being absolutely certain of their intentions. Yet he found he could not stay too upset at her accidental affront. If not for her, he would have eaten stew with his cousins tonight, and done little more. **

****

** So he let himself smile broadly at her. "Aye, Isilwen suited me quite well. Beyond expectations." He slipped his signet ring off his finger, the one that authorized merchants to apply charges to the family's account, and handed it to the matron. She recorded the number engraved inside the band in her register and handed it back. **

****

** "I am most pleased, Lord. And your meal?" **

****

** Faramir remembered the sensation of a carob-piece melting in his mouth as Isilwen ran her tongue along his ear, and he pressed his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from smiling even wider. "Aye, the meal... _'suited_ ' me as well." He relaxed his hand and replaced the ring on his finger. "You may charge the prince's account for the whole night." With that Faramir turned from the podium and left the inn. **

****

** He did not let the laugh building in his chest escape until he was safely out of hearing of the _Silver Fox_. **

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	3. After-Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While visiting family in Dol Amroth, Faramir's encounter with a prostitute leads him to question some of the values he grew up with.

** I realize that some people will have a hard time accepting that the honourable Faramir, in many ways the epitome of Gondorian morality, would pleasure himself. Masturbation is after all a sin in Catholic theology. I won't bore you with a full defense of why I don't think JRRT's morality necessarily translates into Middle-earth's morality, but let me say this: the primary reason I know of for this taboo against masturbation (the "sin of Onan" in Genesis 38) comes from a specific Biblical incident that Gondorians would not have known anything about. Moreover, masturbation in the Biblical context implies the avoidance of some duty, which Faramir would not have been bound to (not being married himself).  **

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** Faramir's actual use of the prostitute, or even the presence of prostitution in Gondor, may be in some ways even more difficult to accept. We know next to nothing about Gondorian sexual morality except that it is perhaps elf-influenced. Some might interpret this as requiring strict monogamy, but when I consider the House of Húrin I see a pragmatic streak a mile wide. Men physically go through puberty and start having to deal with the sexual urges around the same time, but Gondor's military needs would have meant that Boromir and Faramir probably expected to marry late. Combined with Boromir's affair with Eseleth (a serving-girl who because of her station could not refuse Boromir), I imagine Faramir would have been encouraged or at least permitted to make discrete and occasional use of the "right" sort of sex-worker. I have a hard time identifying with such paradigms of virtue that would never feel a sexual urge and have to deal with it in the twenty or so years between puberty and marriage; others may want their Gondorians written differently, but then, this is my story. I choose to write a slightly more fallible, slightly less perfect, and hopefully slightly more identifiable conflicted young man. **

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** For the non-S.C.A. readers: braies are a sort of medieval underwear. I toyed with the idea of just using "underpants", but that conjured up the image of briefs, which is just wrong for the kind of garment I'm describing. See the [Midgard Basic Clothing Standards](http://www.larp.com/midgard/braies.htm). Oh, *waves at Gwynnyd* thanks for your help figuring out how I actually thought Gondorian underwear works. **

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** Also, thanks to [name removed for review] for the beta reading; [name removed for review] for the inspirational photos while I was writing; [tolkien_weekly](http://tolkien_weekly.livejournal.com/)'s challenge of "into" that made me laughing so hard it kept me writing;  ** ** [name removed for review]'s  ** ** masturbation challenge for the initial nudge to write this scene, and  ** ** [name removed for review]  ** ** , for many useful discussions on prostitution in Gondor.  ** ** [name removed for review]  ** ** deserves extra props for her lovely stories [titles removed for review][](http://fanfiction.emyn-arnen.net/viewstory.php?sid=187&warning=R), which were very, erm, "inspirational". Both F/E, both adult. **


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